


Kobold

by TelWoman



Category: From Eroica with Love
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/pseuds/TelWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian burgles his childhood home and meets someone unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kobold

**Author's Note:**

> According to old folk beliefs, some houses have a domestic spirit that lives there.  
> One name for these spirits is the kobold. They’re also called hobgoblins, or brownies – just about every European culture has a name for them, and stories about them.  
> They can bring good luck, and help the humans in their house if the humans take care of them. If you insult them, or neglect them, they play malicious tricks.  
> I wondered if Castle Gloria had a kobold living there. It might explain some things about James.

Minutes before midnight, a tall slim figure in black scaled the high stone walls of Castle Gloria, and dropped soundlessly into the gardens. There was nobody in residence to see him. The family had closed up their English home and gone to Spain for the summer, taking their domestic staff with them.

The intruder kept to the shadows as he approached the Castle. Skirting round to a small door at the side, he picked the lock with quiet efficiency and went in. Once inside, he paused a moment to listen. The deep silence seemed to confirm what his information had told him: the Castle was empty. He pulled off his cap, shaking out his long blond curls.

Dorian Red was by now an accomplished burglar. Every so often, fed up with University life, he would take a short excursion somewhere to exercise his skills and find some appealing work of art to add to his growing personal collection. On a whim, he’d come to pay a visit to his childhood home, to see what the present owners had made of it, and whether they had anything worth stealing.

As he threaded in and out of the ground floor rooms, he concluded that the occupants of Castle Gloria were very rich, but sadly lacking in taste. Dorian climbed the broad staircase to the first floor, where bright moonlight flooded through the tall windows of the long gallery. By this time, Dorian was feeling bold. He strolled from room to room as confident and relaxed as if he were walking through his own house. _Well, it is my own house. In a way._

He pushed open a pair of double doors and walked through into the room beyond – and there, sitting on a highly polished table in the centre of the room, was the slender naked figure of a dark-haired young man. Dorian stopped in his tracks.

The pale-skinned young man snickered softly. “Mortal, you invade my house.” His voice was both amused and dangerous, soft as a caress.

“Who are you?” It wasn’t unheard of for squatters to take up residence in an empty house while the owners were away – but sitting naked in the moonlight on a table top seemed odd behaviour. Dorian thought it best to be wary. After all, his own presence would take some explaining.

The naked figure shifted on the table top, leaning back to display his smooth chest and belly, opening his thighs to reveal dark curls and a pale cock. Dorian forced himself to look at the young man’s face. Black curly hair tumbled over the thin white shoulders, and half-concealed the face. One glittering eye was visible, gleaming with cunning. How old was he? Sixteen? Twenty? Impossible to say. But there was something about his expression that looked old. Beyond old: ancient.

The young man laughed softly again, as if he could read Dorian’s confusion. “I know who _you_ are. You lived here once. You were a child then. I am this house’s spirit. I have always lived here.”

 _This guy is crazy, whoever he is_ , thought Dorian. _A shame, he’s very pretty._

“ _You_ are beautiful,” said the young man. “Not just pretty: beautiful.”

_He knows what I’m thinking? Nonsense. Coincidence._

“You are a thief,” the pale figure said. “But it is not fitting that you should rob this place.” He reached out and gestured with a graceful arm. The air seemed to shimmer around his hand, and then – Dorian saw that he was holding a delicate porcelain vase. Behind him, a space yawned on the crowded shelves where the vase had stood before.

The young man held the vase out to Dorian. “You know the value of such things. You will know that this is the only thing here worthy of your craft. I give it to you.”

Dorian reached out and the vase was placed carefully in his hands. It was genuine Meissen porcelain. Amongst the reproduction furniture and the lesser artworks, the vase was the one rare jewel, the single genuine treasure, in a room full of expensive dross.

The young man jumped down lightly from his place on the table, and began walking around Dorian slowly.

Dorian slipped the vase into his backpack. He felt rattled. He tried to tell himself that the young man had picked it up from beside him on the table – but that wasn’t what he saw. He straightened up.

“Will you stop walking round me in circles, please?” he said, more irritably than he’d meant to.

The pale naked figure stopped, midway through his second circuit, and cocked his head to one side. The curtain of dark hair fell back, revealing his face completely.

“You don’t live here,” Dorian said, “so who are you? Did you come here to rob the place yourself?”

“I have said: I am the spirit of this house. I have lived here always, since one stone stood upon another.”

“Bollocks,” snorted Dorian. “Spirit? You’re as real as I am.” He reached out and shoved the naked figure. As his hand touched the other’s skin, the air shimmered around them as it had when the vase appeared, and Dorian felt an odd sensation, like an electric shock but softer. Seductive.

The naked figure’s grin widened, became wicked. “Mortal, you should accept what your senses tell you.” He stepped closer, cupping Dorian’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Dorian’s skin tingled; his pulse drummed in his ears. Reality melted away as he pulled the naked figure into an embrace and kissed him again, hungrily this time. Together, they sank down onto the thick carpet. Dorian pulled at his own clothing, shedding it as fast as he could. Two naked bodies tangled together in the moonlight. Their caresses became bolder, wilder, more urgent. Dorian looked into the eyes of his nameless lover as they moved together, watching his expression change from challenge to surrender to elation. Then, Dorian was lost to the rush of ecstasy that overtook them both.

Afterward, they lay entwined together on the carpet. “What’s your name?” Dorian asked.

“The name you give me.”

“Don’t start that crap,” muttered Dorian, “you sound like a rent boy.”

The figure beside him suddenly seemed menacing. “I am the spirit of this house. I protect those who live here if I choose them, or I make their lives unbearable if I do not. This was your house once. It will be again. I choose you. You have chosen me. You sealed your choice with your body. I am yours, and you are mine, for all of your life. If you name me, I will serve you. If you refuse me, you will come to regret it.”

Dumbstruck, Dorian stared at him. He still couldn’t decide if this was real. _If it’s real, I’d better be practical about this. If it’s not, whatever I do won’t matter._

He ruffled the glossy dark hair. “James,” he said. “Your name is James.”

The aura of danger dissolved. James smiled, his eyes warm and adoring. He kissed Dorian gently. “Go, then,” he said. “I will be here when you return to claim your home.”

*** *** *** ***

Dorian woke late the next morning in a hotel room some distance from Castle Gloria. In the bright light of day, the events of the previous night seemed to make even less sense. _I broke in to the Castle. I looked through the rooms. There was nothing worth stealing_ , he told himself. _The other stuff – I must have dreamed it._

He got out of bed. He picked up the black clothing he’d worn the previous night, and the backpack he’d carried. The backpack wasn’t empty. Carefully, he laid it on the bed and opened it up.

Inside, was a delicate Meissen porcelain vase.

 

25 April 2011


End file.
